La Petite Naïade
by Marquesa de Santos
Summary: If her papa hadn't been quite so selfish with her maman, perhaps they could have avoided this altogether. A different exploration of the developments between two not quite human creatures. Rumbelle, of course. Most assuredly AU.
1. Chapter 1

La Petite Naïade

Chapter One

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She had firmly grasped unto the belief that names held power—if not always the power to determine one's character, then certainly the influence to prejudice the world against the name's wearer—at the tender age of five. It was a bright spring afternoon, all fluffy clouds and the smell of flowers. Gaston had been teasing her for her reading again, insisting that only ugly women needed to pretend to be smart. He had made this declaration before grabbing the book from her hands and throwing it into the muddy pond.

When she had dived in after her treasure, it had not been half as frightening as she had imagined. Her father had always insisted she not swim, but she didn't know why she should ever arise out from the depths of that muddy little pond with the water, which should have been much colder, caressing her smooth chubby ankles. It felt like when maman hugged her and told her stories of the sea. Alas, seeing the book reminded her of her urgent mission: rescuing what Gaston had tried to drown.

The dive had been to no avail, of course, serving only to make the walls whisper with secrets and the servants to tip toe around her. The book had been ruined, along with her favorite pink dress and any respect she may have felt for her twelve-year-old fiancé.

After her bath that night beside the firelight, her nounou had told her that she needed to be more delicate than she was. Belle had been trying so hard to stay still in the little stool as Bertrand smoothed the tangles from her auburn curls, plaiting them so there would be no new snags in the morning. Belle was "such a lovely little creature," and would surely grow to be as beautiful as her mother. "Don't you want to feel pretty, ma petite naïade?"

It was then that Belle decided she hated her name.

"Non! Je ne veux etre jolie, ni belle!" She had pouted, scrunching her nose and crossing round arms across her chest. When particularly angry, she would retreat to French, and then only her mother and Bertrand could understand. It was another way Belle pushed intruders from her sense of peace, outside of reading.

Stubborn little thing, she'd been, until maman died.

After the funeral, her father decided she needed to learn how to be a proper princess. She had been taught the arts of diplomacy by a barrage of tutors and governesses (Belle didn't think she could have borne maman's death without Bertrand smoothing the way for her, providing a piece of maman in the midst of the storm). Behind the smiles of an acquiescent beauty grew a mind as sharp as the compasses her father used to strategize over his maps, cultivated by the strong figures of her childhood.

So when the pretty not-quite-so-little princess made the hard decision and offered herself up to the monster in exchange for her people's salvation, astonishment had been the rule rather than the exception.

"It's forever, dearie." He looked altogether uninterested, as though discussing the weather.

"My family, my friends… they will all live?"

"You have my word."

She took a breath, loud in the otherwise silent room. "Then you have mine. I will go with you forever."

"Deal."

The room came to life, the noise escalating as her father protested. She tried to explain that she had already decided when the imp interrupted.

"You know, she's right." Silence reigned once more. "The deal is struck. Oh! Congratulations on your little war." Rumpelstiltskin giggled maniacally, putting his arm around her waist, and suddenly, in a cloud of purple smoke, she wanted to throw up.

That their surroundings had changed barely registered as she found herself kneeling in the dirt, dry heaving, grateful she had been too nervous to eat earlier.

She felt a rubbing on her back as her body attempted expelling that which she had not consumed. When they subsided, she was vaguely aware of being dragged into an unpright position. Whatever her captor had done left her head fuzzy, so when unnatural sleep came over her, she succumbed.

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**What this means is that I now have three multi-chap fics in progress. Oh the horror.**

**Translations: **

"**Maman" = French term for mama**

"**Nounou" = French term for nanny**

"**Non! Je ne veux etre jolie, ni belle!" = No! I don't want to be pretty or beautiful!**

**Not all is as it seems, hmm? I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I hope I've made you super curious.**

**Please Review! Por favor? **


	2. Chapter 2

La Petite Naïade

Chapter Two

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Rumpelstiltskin was not amused.

His newest acquisition was averse to his magic, still sleeping off the effects in one of his grandiose rooms. He had given her the blue room for her unnaturally bright eyes (and really, he wasn't organized, but he liked to group things of a similar color together). Insomuch as he could tell, her eyes were the only extraordinary things about her. Except, of course, that her body was rejecting his magic and practically killing her.

Under the obvious irritation there was worry, and there was concern. Perhaps it was the shock. It was one thing for him to plan to cut off her brave little heart with a night (or two) in the dungeons, but for her to crumple against him as they appeared in his castle had been unexpected. And then he had to carry her. He certainly couldn't risk magicking her away again, and it had been a long time since he had carried someone, but he did it.

She hadn't stirred for a day, now, and he was getting (not desperate, never desperate) more concerned than he had been. He had tried fairy dust (it had only served to turn her skin pallid, and so no, it wasn't fairy blood fighting his magic) but had been afraid to try much else. The only thing he could think to do was to go back to Avonlea, to threaten her father for the truth. It was embarrassing, but it would have to do, so he stole away into the night and left her, barely breathing, protected by the castle's enchantments.

~oOo~

"Hello, your majesty." He bowed too low, with too much flourish, but it screamed of the Dark One to the king who sat within his bathing tub.

There was splashing and fumbling and a sputtering "Get out!"

"Not until you tell me what I need to know." He giggled, hopping unto the edge of Maurice's bed and swinging his legs.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your precious little daughter has a touch of magic in her. I need to know what it is."

Maurice changed from terrified to weary (though he wasn't comfortable, for what man really could be as he sat in his tub, conversing with the Dark One?) in an instant. "Belle giving you trouble? She doesn't know, and so she shouldn't be bothering you about it. She's a good girl."

"Doesn't know what, dearie?"

The king repeated that she was a good girl, but pointed to a chest (his fingers were still tremulous, Rumpelstiltskin observed with some satisfaction) in a corner of the room, and Rumpelstiltskin moved to open it. "Ah. So I must be keeping her away from water, then."

~oOo~

She was taken from her dreams of swirling blue and peace and home with a few drops of cold water. She gasped, trying to bolt upright, when a hand pushed her back down.

"Don't move, princess."

The sight of him, those wretched teeth and the unnatural skin (that was somewhat subdued in the firelight of this room) was enough to make her want to back away, but for the hand on her chest. He seemed somewhat embarrassed and jerked his hand back, moving away from the bed, regarding her with curiosity.

He bent towards her, his face before her own. "I've a secret to share, dearie." And with his strange high pitched giggle and a shower of sparks and smoke, he was gone from the room.

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**And there is the second chapter, all wrapped up with glue. Review; let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

La Petite Naïade

Chapter Three

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Hair curling and spiraling out of its normally tame waves, Belle wondered at the impossibility of her new life. She had never before done laundry. Heaving a great sigh, she rested her arms against the vat, trying not to despair at the sweat dripping down her face. The steam from the laundry water tinged her cheeks with flush and made wisps of hair coil tightly out of her hopelessly disheveled bun.

The Dark One, _Rumpelstiltskin_, she chided to her inner voice, had been away on a trip of sorts since last night. He had said something about desperate souls to exploit. She supposed this was a great strength of his, exploiting desperation, and wondered if under different circumstances, she would have refused his offer. But no, he dealt only with those desperate enough to call for him… she was too tired to be annoyed by the circular quality of her reasoning.

While Rumpelstiltskin avoided her while he was here, and she was in _great_ need of companionship, his absence was like a weight upon her shoulder. There was a certain quiet accomplishment that stole over her when she learned how to better care for the estate, but it in no way lessened her need for interaction. They took tea together; he would rarely speak, her attempts at conversation met with awkward silence. The most unnerving thing was how he would gaze at her, whether or not he thought she could see him. It was not Gaston's heated stare, nor was it filled with the longing many of the knights in her father's castle had bestown upon her. She inspired curiosity in the Dark One, and this puzzled her.

"Shirking your duties, dearie?" Her head snapped up, but she schooled her expression into amusement.

"Just resting, sir." She gave a cool smile and made to continue her work when a hand caught her arm.

"I've a present for you."

"A present?"

He gave his twisted butterfly of a laugh and pulled a red velvet box out of the air. It opened seemingly of its own accord, and within, there laid a necklace that luminesced. The breath left her lungs.

"It's lilac." Her hands twitched toward it.

"That's what the Venutian merchant said." He smirked.

"It glows. Magic?" Eyes that could not have widened any further were transfixed, and Rumpelstiltskin felt a stab of pride.

"No. It's the gold and the cobalt that make it seem so; it just catches the light rather prettily. Pleased, dearie?" He took it from the box and was behind her in a second, clasping it upon her neck.

"Yes. Yes, thank you. I remember maman had one. Red. It just didn't glow the same way. Glass, is it?"

He nodded, thrilled with the way she couldn't seem to keep her hands or eyes off of it. It was a curious trinket with no discernable magic, but it seemed to keep her people in thrall.

"She broke it." Belle whispered, peering into the glass to see bubbles and flecks of gold within.

"Oh?"

"Threw it on the floor. First time she yelled at papa. Started asking to go to the sea. Started playing with me. Is it evil?" She sounded frightened and entranced all at once, fingering the glass and the gold

"No, child. But I can take it, for now." He snapped his fingers and the lovely thing was gone. "You'll never get the laundry done at this rate." And then he was gone, too, foregoing the indulgence of the flamboyance and the glitter.

It was still near impossible to finish the laundry.

~oOo~

At tea that afternoon, Belle asked him how his dealings had gone. This time he answered, smiling when he produced two dolls. They terrified her.

"I prefer dealing with cowards."

"Why?" She was eyeing the dolls' twisted and wrinkled faces with caution.

"They're easy to figure out. Predictable," he sneered.

"Stop it." There was strength in her voice, now. "It's one thing for you to take advantage of hopeless people when you're the only one who can help. Magic has a price, and I've an idea that not even you are above the laws of magic. But it's unfair to mock them when you don't know what's in their hearts. What they might be protecting."

It was not the first time she had seen him silent, though if it was the first time she'd seen him stunned. Gentler, she explained, "Even cowards have something to protect."

"Not all of them," he scoffed, regaining his wits, even as his expression softened.

As she began to clear the tea service, he touched her arm.

"Yes, Rumpelstiltskin?"

There was a strange wonderment in his face as he shook his head and waved her away.

~oOo~

"Your Majesty," Bertrand hesitated as she approached Maurice in his study. The smell of wood and books reminded her of her charge, and she bit her lip to keep from losing composure.

"Bertrand." He acknowledged without looking up from his papers.

"I think I know how to save the princess."

He started, snapping his head up in response.

"Explain yourself."

She had always been known for her insolence, but the treaty in place protected her as it had her mistress before her. The lady-in-waiting's breath was unsteady as she began. "Do you remember the engagement to which Belle was bound after her birth, the exchange that was to take place? Do you remember she was to be returned to the Queen's people?" She could not rein back the venom in her voice. Bertrand had, after all, followed her mistress when she had been given to King Maurice as a condition of the treaty. "Before you gave her hand to Gaston?"

Maurice's face was flushing in anger, but Bertrand did not cease. "Better she be with us than the Dark One. Let me write to them, your Highness. Let us complete the peace treaty. Surely this is better. Surely he didn't have to take her skin, your majesty. Surely, you could have spared her at least that." She felt tears begin and swept from the room.

Maurice choked back his own tears, deciding then that Bertrand was right. Better Belle be bound by her own than by that creature.

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**It's been a while since I updated (the notorious real life. University account needed some tending to, and I took over a couple of shifts at work.), but it's alright because this chapter is considerably longer.**

**Ahem. I would love a few reviews. You see, I am addicted to them, and they brighten my day considerably. To those who have reviewed, thank you! I appreciate them very much!**


	4. Chapter 4

La Petite Naïade

Chapter 4

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She was singing, her voice echoing in the rafters as she remained oblivious to the effect she was having on the master of the estate. She wasn't a mermaid, thank the gods, but she might as well be one with all her charm. Any creature of the sea was far too hypnotic with voice (and manner of walking, and just everything, damn it, and while it was easy to resist when the creatures were being smug and displaying their power, Belle disarmed him), no matter how mixed she might be. My, but she was pretty to watch. Her hands cheerfully caressing the countertops, fondling the dishes dry. The way her dress draped over…

No.

_But think of how much fun you could have with such a creature as she. Skin pale as pearls underneath you, your tongue making those eyes blue as the sky squeeze tight, yours, all yours_, the Dark One's voice rustled in his mind as Rumpelstiltskin breathed heavily and leaned against the kitchen door. "Stop!" His voice rang out, silencing his housekeeper's melody. She gasped and the pot she had started to dry fell to the floor with a metallic clang. Both of them winced, and when she picked it up for his inspection, he found a dent. He shrugged, and she continued to dry, her silence as notable as her song had been only moments before.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't permitted to sing." She was quiet, sashaying up to him now that the pot was dry, dust-rag in hand. The worst part was that she wasn't even _trying,_ and it was the earnestness in which she did everything that intensified the effect. Her lower lip between her teeth (in consternation, not sexual frustration, not… he was a fucking monster) was driving him to distraction, but at least the sinister whispering had ceased. She brought out the monster in him, just as she brought out the part of him that had once upon a time dreamed of being knight to a lady. It was these two natures, one dominant, the other buried under centuries of magic and war, that battled within his soul. Looking down at her, the face of indifference, he shrugged again and hid the danger with half-truths.

"It's best not to tempt magic, dearie."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes wide, her head cocked to the side. She was so very close. (_you coward, take her; she's yours; no one will care_) Close enough for him to feel the heat of her breath ghosting across his skin, to hear her heartbeat (or maybe it was his) to change _everything_.

"Keep singing and you'll find out!" He winked, giggling and skipping a few steps away from her, hopping unto on one of the countertops, trying not to let the darkness overwhelm him. Usually, it wasn't a problem. The darkness was strong where he was weak and took the cowardice from him, but this was new. He did not like it. He had thought that, much like hunger, the magic would squelch any carnal desires, but truth be told, Rumpelstiltskin hadn't wanted anyone since he was a young man. He had wed and bed a young woman his parents had chosen for him, even though he had wanted to court little Aleine(a wisp of a girl, the village favorite. He hadn't loved her, but he had wanted her), and as soon as Blaine's swollen stomach had given way to a healthy, squirming Baelfire, Rumpelstiltskin the man had been forced into war. There had been no time for lust. As soon as he had found a way to come back to a family who didn't recognize him, Blaine left, ashamed.

He would have left the kitchen had a loud knocking not interrupted him first. He crossed his arms, wondering how anything could have gotten through the moat, unless…

Shit.

It was a possibility, at least, that they had crossed the moat; water creatures were the only ones capable of doing so without his express permission (and Regina too, if he wasn't paying attention, which he had been, as of late). It had never been a problem before, though. Most couldn't travel on land, and the ones that could held no dominion over him. With Belle, though, they might. There were ancient laws to which even the fearsome Rumpelstiltskin was bound. She had promised forever, though, and a contract signed by a hand free to choose was as an ancient magic too, strong and binding and completely under his control.

"Stay here, dearie. I'll go be seeing who that is."

"Yes, sir. I'll be making the tea, then. Should I set extra places?"

"Don't bother."

Her heart sank. She wished he wouldn't phrase everything with quite so much finality. It was strange. As much as she would love to set an extra place or two, she knew she would not be capable of doing so. It happened each time he gave a direct order, no matter how off-handedly it had been spoken. She certainly wasn't afraid of him, at least not anymore. He was strange, granted, but there was something to that strangeness, glimmers of humanity peeking through the gold speckled skin. He must have had a heart buried underneath the layers he used to protect himself. Musn't he? She shook her thoughts away and reached for the crockery, trying for a third cup, but… she didn't know how to describe it. It was a mixture of anxiety and forgetfulness, she would decide later, but for the moment, something had distracted her. She heard voices. While the same something kept her from leaving the room, for he had ordered her to "stay here," she could still stand near the door, eavesdropping.

~oOo~

Rumpelstiltskin had expected an army, considering Belle was the heir apparent to two kingdoms, but in the stead of noble steeds and proud knights stood a lone man, hair white as snow and skin darkened by the sun. The man did not come swinging forward, brandishing useless weapons like those fools sent with the Queen's blessing . Instead, he held his head high and told the Dark One, "You have something that belongs to me," with no more threat than a moth.

Rumpelstiltskin bowed, mocking, and invited the man into his lair. His eyes were bluer than Belle's, glowing with freedom. Ah. A selkie in control of his own fate, then. This was going to be so much fun!

* * *

**I think many of you had already figured it out, but there it is. Also, as there isn't as much folklore about selkies, I'm going to play with it. Oh, obscure fairy tales are so fun. For more information, check out the Fisherman's Wife. It should be floating around the internet, somewhere. **

**I'm sorry for how short it was. I was going to add more, but then I got to the end and thought... that's just... perfect. For Rum. So. Let me know your thoughts, and I'll try to update a little bit faster.**


	5. Chapter 5

La Petite Naïade

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

He walked tall, determined to save the girl he'd not seen for years. He had been a child of eight, and she a toddler of three, much too young for him to consider as anything other than a sister. Splashing in the fountains of his mind, her eyes duller than they should have been (yet so much brighter than those of the land-dwellers that surrounded her), that was how he remembered her. Years had passed since then, he knew, and the little girl from his memories would be grown. The engagement had been broken, and now, with Lord Maurice's blessing, he was here, claiming his birthright. Saving her.

The Dark One kept him in the front room, fairly dancing in place. It unnerved him, but not as much as the sun pouring in from the windows. It was a startling contrast to the image he had built in his mind. Airy, light. It was clean and homey. Even the grounds had a feeling of freshness, lacking both the decay and crass opulence he'd expected.

"And you are?" the Dark One said, inspecting his blackened nails. To what end, Marius couldn't say. It was a hopeless endeavor, and he'd had an idea it was meant to make him feel small.

"Prince Marius of the Selindrion." He drew himself to his full height, and did not deflate when the Dark One bowed mockingly.

"Rumpelstiltskin at your service!" he sang. Adrenaline flooded Marius's system. This creature was tiny and slight, yet there was ice in his eyes and lightning in his spastic movements that sent shivers slithering like minnows over Marius's spine. "Now what do you want?" A green nostril lifted in disdain and the farce of play was over. Good. Marius hated falseness.

"They say you are the great deal-maker. Well, Dark One, I've come to deal for the girl."

~oOo~

Rumpelstiltskin was rather talented at using glee to mask anger. Forced, it may have been, but unconvincing? Certainly not. He had been at this for far too long; most days he could even fool himself. He had become a master at deception, a long way from weak spinner of centuries ago. Yet who better than Rumpelstiltskin the deserter to know that desperation could be as invaluable a master as time? It would be unwise to underestimate this Marius.

_Finally_, the Darkness snickered. _Your cowardice seems to have finally served us a purpose._ Rumpelstiltskin clenched his teeth.

He still had not decided what to do with the girl-woman he had taken into his fortress. He had taken her because she was sufficient compensation for the magic expended. She'd been a dear price, her father's most prized possession. The thought made him bristle. A person ought not to be possessed, neither peasants by their lords, nor women by their men. _Nah-ah_, the Darkness tsked. _What do you think you're doing to the girl? Judge not lest ye be judged_, it twittered as he locked the thought away. She had been the one to decide, the lady captive of the peasant magician. The reversal of roles was not lost on him, but there'd been a fundamental difference! She'd had the option and still chosen captivity, knowing full well the consequences of such a choice. A peasant never had the luxury of exercising free will; he'd certainly never even dreamed of it.

"Well you can't have her," he heard himself snarl. Petulant and childish and he didn't care, he didn't care; Belle was his! He found himself breathing hard and crouching low, and so he straightened his back and sprang lightly. A wicked smile he bestowed upon the man with the eyes that glowed like the mermaid pools of Moon Lagoon.

"What would you do with her, anyways?" He smirked. He knew how he looked. Yellow teeth and scaled skin and Rumpelstiltskin knew he was a sight to behold. "Nothing I haven't already," he giggled, noting the clench of the prince's jaw.

"Our people don't put much value in virginity, Dark One. We put it in hard work and loyalty. Discipline. Creativity," he spat.

_And that might be true_, Rumpelstiltskin thought, _but it still bothers you more than you'd like._ The rational part of Rumpelstiltskin knew that there were many treasures the sea held that might make trading the girl worthwhile. It made little sense to keep her for the mere sake of keeping her. Yet, the Darkness argued, insidious as it was cunning,_ there are other things with which you might bargain. Less valuable things than the girl._ The Darkness itself had mixed feelings about her. She was lovely and sweet and woke its lust in a way that it hadn't been awoken for centuries. Zoso had never been one for carnal pleasures, and until recently, neither had Rumpelstiltksin. She got under his skin, this slip of a girl. Her presence in his fortress inspired images of love and tenderness, _whispers against heated skin, acres of creamy flesh and blue eyes screwed shut, yes, and red lips on your cock and..._

He shut out the Darkness's seduction and composed himself. Not now. The Darkness flinched at his determination, biting at his subconscious, but no. He needed to focus to play the seal's game. See what he had to offer. "And what would you trade for her?" he managed.

"I'd owe you a favor."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted and couldn't suppress following with a derisive laugh at the indignation on the princeling's face.

"A favor amongst my people is considered the highest honor!" The scowl was controlled, his voice tight.

The Darkness could hardly contain its glee. "I'm not your people, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin explained. "My needs are rather more..." his eyes raked over the prince's form, and he made a point of stepping uncomfortably close. "Immediate. How about this. I send the girl and her pelt wherever she wishes, and you, in turn, give up your own freedom. Take up her duties, in her place, and in my bed." He looked him over once more before moving back half a step.

_Yes,_ the Darkness hissed, laughing lasciviously, for this was not a bluff. The Darkness was clamoring for satisfaction, and he'd bargained for the girl as a maid, not as a whore. He couldn't force her to do anything. Cajole, convince, coerce, but on that, the Darkness and Rumpelstiltskin differed. She had not come into this arrangement to offer up her body, and Rumpelstiltskin always kept to the letter of his deals. No more. No less. If she came to him, it had to be on her own terms, _but there's no chance of that, you wretched craven_, the Darkness mocked. This one, however? The price for freedom was captivity, and that would please the Darkness just as much. /p

The selkie balked. Rumpelstiltskin was not surprised. People often did when confronted with the price. It was why he preferred to deal with desperate souls; they were usually the only ones willing to pay the price, as this pretty fool was not.

"If you fall back on a favor of my choosing, know that it will be your freedom and your pelt, Marius. You cannot have her. She cannot be free while you are." The Darkness delighted in the resignation on the prince's face.

Marius, for his part, left quietly. He betrayed nothing of his thoughts, turning on his heel, his steps echoing against the stone floor. There were neither threats nor heroic overtures, but Rumpelstiltskin knew he would be back. He knew the type. They thought their silence prudent, that it would protect them.

He went back to the dining hall, exhausted, and slumped down into his chair. Battling with the Darkness always drained him. He called for Belle, and in his exhaustion felt magic crackle in the space between them, originating from his words. _How odd,_ he thought, as the Darkness sniggered at him. _You didn't know what you were doing, fool? Ask the girl, and see if she doesn't hate you_.

She clattered up the stairs, red-faced and looking as though she were going to cry. She didn't, though. Rumpelstiltskin didn't know if he hated her or admired her for her courage. Or fuck her. You could always fuck her. He set his mouth in a firm line. Despite everything, he was worried. Damn the girl for making him concerned. "What's wrong?"

She was silent, as though she were considering her words. The similarities between her and the one who'd just left shook him. "When I first came," she began, "you did not tell me I would be compelled to follow your orders. Have I done something wrong?"


End file.
